


Paper Cranes

by Kulkuri



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Asexual Derek Hale, College Drop Out Stiles, Dad Derek Hale, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Derek Adopts A Kid, Derek Gets Therapy, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Gardener Derek Hale, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pansexual Stiles Stilinski, Past Abuse, Past Rape, Past Torture, Powerful Stiles Stilinski, Single Parent Derek, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kulkuri/pseuds/Kulkuri
Summary: The third day brings in the moving trucks and. . . Stiles Stilinski.Derek should not be surprised how fast news circulate in this small town.





	1. Chapter 1

  
To be brutally honest, Derek didn't think he'd ever see the landscape of Beacon Hills again. The same buildings holding onto their businesses, the slowly deteriorating police station, the salon, the bakery, the tobacco shop. Same people, just slightly more aged.

Same roads and pavements, cracked at parts. Houses with paint fading against the weather, trees standing taller and cars rusting at their hinges much like their owners.

The horror that once lay beneath offers no trace of it in the sunlight. No alpha packs, fairies, wendigos, no nogitsune or darach. The blood's been washed away by the rain, the misery of darkly harnessed magic no longer simmering in the air. It makes his heart ache. All that death, all that pain.

New York's busy streets were nothing compared to what he feels now, in the face of the place that rid him of everything and almost made him drop in a shallow grave himself. It was the new unfamiliarity of different states, strange towns, and never ending road that made him dust himself off and leave without a backwards glance.

But now, his hand clasped with a smaller one, he thinks the old scenery of the small town is rather comforting.

Omar makes a querying noise beside him. "Poppa?"

"Mm?"

"How long we gon' stay here? Or are we gonna go? 'Cause I'm hungry."

The admission makes him snort and he shakes his head. The kid was always hungry. "Come on," he says, tugging gently at the pup's hand. "Time to go home."

Omar tightens his hold and his breath hitches. ". . .For good?"

Derek nods. "For good."

  
\--

  
There is no loft anymore. Derek had it demolished before he left, shivering at the thought of having a ghost hanging over his shoulder. There is no Hale house either. Not anymore.

But the graves. They stayed, silent in their nature, echo of love that no longer exists. The Hales have their own plot in the town graveyard, a huge tombstone for every single member of Derek's family, apart from Derek himself. Even Cora's name is engraved there, though it's been scratched off by the officials when they found out she was alive.

Cora never went near there.

But none of the Hale members are actually buried there. Nothing but ashes were left and they mixed with everything in the house, and nobody had the thought of collecting any of the black dust to fill the empty slots with.

That was fine with him.

Derek had fixed his own graves for his family, hand carved stones deep within the forest. The small corner is now filled with wolfsbane, a memorial every supernatural creature will show respect for if they ever cross it. Back to earth where they had come from, bringing life onto the surroundings. With each death, a new life.

And since Boyd and Erica had been buried far away from the Hales, Derek had to hand pick the aconite flowers and plant them where they belonged, with pack, with family.

The grief doesn't knock the wind out of his lungs anymore, but rather aches within his bones, sting in his eyes that are closest to tears he gets. It feels good, in a way, to not have the sorrow be all-consuming anymore. The guilt, the crushing devastation that he was left with in the wake of the worst years of his life has simmered into something softer, something that no longer makes his hands shake and heart quiver.

It hurts, but it's should too. When the bigger waves hit him sometimes, he lets himself be washed away, not afraid of drowning in it anymore. He knows he'll get back to shore this time.

This time, he's not gonna exist.

He's going to _live._

\--

  
The sun has dropped below the tree lines, painting the sky in beautiful reds and oranges. Omar is holding Derek's hand, half-asleep on his feet. It makes him smile softly.

''C'mon bud,'' he says lowly, dragging the kid under his arm. Omar stands flush against his side, head dropping against Derek's stomach as he mumbles without opening his eyes.

''C'mon, we're here,'' he murmurs, ''We're home.''

The child blinks and looks up with bleary eyes. ''Home?''

''Uh-huh,'' Derek affirms, letting go of his hand. ''Right there.''

Omar turns his head, blinking rapidly at the direction Derek nods his head at. They are standing at some nameless suburban street, houses littered all over, miles and miles of quiet neighborhood stretching wide. The house, their house, is rather on the small scale, with a cute small front yard.

Derek gouges at the small wolf's reaction. The house is made of stone, warm grays and blues and beiges, the windows framed with dark wooden paneling, with a porch that holds a lantern that's lit. Derek's pleased by it, glad that the realtor had gone the effort when he asked.

It's almost like from a fairy tale. The evening, the house near the woods, the well-cared for yard with green shrubs surrounding it, the welcoming and comforting lights that practically invites a tired traveler home.

Derek's broken from his reverie when Omar whispers in a hushed, awed tone, ''That's all ours?''

It's painfully obvious the way the child is clinging to Derek's bulkier frame, as if afraid that all this is offered to him and then yanked away like all of it was just a cruel, practical joke. He's so familiar with that head space, that dropping feeling in the pit of his stomach that he bends down to nuzzle and scent at his hair.

He keeps the same hushed tone when he whispers, ''Yeah.''

Omar bursts into tears.

Derek picks the boy up and hushes him, rubbing at his back when the kid sobs onto his jacket. He's no good with words, never has been. He's always been more physical with his affections, silently offering his bed for Laura when she came home from another date gone wrong. Playing tag with Cora and offering piggy-back rides for his little brother Noah. Hugging his mother after she had a long day, curling up next to his dad when the older wolf was reading at the nook of the sofa. Feeding his cousins, napping with little cousins. Neck rub here and there, sometimes braiding any of the willing girl's hair. Well. Willing or demanding. Same difference.

But he promised. Even if words were hard, and his thoughts often jumbled into incoherent mess, he vowed to be more loud with his words. Ever since he even thought about taking Omar with him, voicing his wishes to Cora, she had, in that brash way of hers, told him that he cannot raise a kid with his grunts and hums. He'd have to learn how to make himself heard, how to offer his words to the world.

And it hadn't been easy. It was almost like learning to speak again, forcing himself to say things out loud when he usually would just shrug.

It was small things at first. Saying good morning, rather than just a nod and a grunt. Offering 'thank you' and 'please', saying what bothered him, (it was the way Cora never initiated a hug, it always came from Derek), asking how her day had been, if she slept well.

After he had gotten comfortable with these enough with Cora, he extended the courtesy to strangers. Saying 'thank you' to the cash register girl, helping short old people reach the top shelves with a 'can I help' and 'which one?'.

Then he started asking Omar stuff too. The kid was traumatized, bent to an alpha's will without consent since young, scared out of his mind and so, so helpless. Omar had been wary at first, and it hit Derek in the face that this must've been what it had been for Laura, dealing with him in the aftermath of -

In the aftermath.

But Derek persisted. The kid was witty and smart, fierce little thing that wanted to be unleashed. In a matter of months, the two had bonded, and though there was no alpha left for either of them, they formed a small pack.

A pack of two with no alpha. It was almost unheard of in the supernatural circles, the pull of the moon haggled to be so strong wolves would lose their minds to it without an alpha to anchor and pull them back.

Derek called bullshit.

He had been born a werewolf, and he was just that. A werewolf. There were no two entities inside him, just a whole being that consisted of two different sets of instincts that blend in the middle. He had been packless, alphaless and an omega, but he survived because he was stable enough. His anchor was solid, firm thing that nobody, not even mother moon could wreck.

He taught this to Omar, and once the little wolf internalized it, he too became more stabilized, more happy with himself.

It took them four months to form a pack bond, but once they did, it was as strong as Derek and his mother's had been. It took another month to that to finally get Omar away from his abusers, and the two fled across the states, to the only place Derek had ever felt home in. The only place he could feel a pull to.

Derek stepped slowly to the front door of the house, holding Omar in his arms. He shushed him, murmuring low reassurances, ''It's alright. You're okay. We're here, we're home. I'm right here. It's okay to cry.'' And when the words didn't seem to register, he rumbled deep in his chest, like a mother would soothe a cub.

Omar went absolutely limp, with a small, ''Oh,'' and sniffled. The kid's face was still buried in Derek's neck, and as the scent of exhaustion, hope and contentment filled Derek's nostrils, he wasn't all that inclined to let the small wolf go.

He let the two of them inside, keys clinking in the silence, and clicked the lights on. The entrance was a narrow, though short hall with a embed coat hanger. He took his shoes off and crouched on the ground, helping Omar too.

The house had come half furnished. A microwave, a fridge, a dishwasher and some linens. Lamps too. Derek padded around the place, familiarizing himself in his surroundings. The whole thing was cozy and warm, dark wooden floors with soft white walls, a kitchen with space for a four place table, a living room with gorgeous windows pointing to the preserve that surrounded the neighborhood, a small office and a bathroom. The upstairs held two bedrooms and a open room that had previously been used as some sort of playroom, if the small cuffs on the wood were anything to go by.

Even though the family that had previously been inhabiting the place had cleaned it up, their smells and scents still lingered, the biggest height of emotion of happiness deeply engraved into the spaces between.

Derek hoped he and Omar could one day replace that. Replace it with their own scents of happiness, of family that loved each other.

Taking careful steps to the stairs, Omar gave a one last sniffle and looked up to Derek, saying, ''Sorry.''

''Don't be,'' he answered, giving a soft little uptick of his mouth. ''It's overwhelming. To me too.''

Omar nods and that's that.

When he gets to the upstairs landing, he lets the boy down. Omar wobbles for a minute but finds his balance. He flashes his eyes at Derek and Derek flashes them back. The kid shoots to the nearest room, clicking on lights all over.

''Poppa, this room's nice!''

Derek enters slowly after, nodding in approval. It is nice, with the biggest wall painted in deep sea blue, others left white. The window is rather large, but there are hangers that curtains can be attached to, and the place is modeled to point to the streets. ''Do you want it?''

''I wanna see the other room first.''

''Sure.''

The kid brushes past him and pushes the door open, entering the other bedroom. It's slightly smaller, with dark green walls and glow stars attached to the ceiling. Omar hums, turning towards Derek who walks in just seconds after him. He looks a little bashful and ducks his head. Derek quirks an eyebrow.

''I like it,'' he says, gazing around the room. The lamp is slow to lit properly, but it's obviously a moon lamp. It makes him huff. It's something ridiculous that makes him think of Stiles of all people. The dick would buy a gag gift like that. He knows so, because the human is notorious for making bad dog jokes every time one of the wolves are around him.

''I want this one, poppa.''

Derek shrugs amiably. ''Sounds good to me.''

Omar grins and jumps excitedly. ''Let's go get out the bags!''

Derek lets himself be led out and he just knows his scent is soaring with affection and fond amusement. It makes Omar tighten his hold, but the kid's cheeks are ruddy red and he smells pleased, so he's not at all embarrassed.

Since they don't have anything in the house yet, apart from their small overnight bags and two cases of sleeping bags, they get the linens out of the closet of Derek's bedroom and make a small nest on the living room floor. The moving trucks had been loading Derek's furniture all day that day from a warehouse he loaned to hold his stuff in New York. The company should arrive in two days time, and until then, the two of them would just have to make it without.

It's a fresh start for both, and for once Derek is looking forward to waking up tomorrow and facing his future.

Because it's bright and hopeful, and he's got someone to share it with.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next two days go by in a blurry of visiting Home Depot and IKEA to stuff their closets with dishware Derek had never bothered to buy for just one. They buy, or Derek buys, Omar does a good job of piling stuff after stuff into their cart, and when he puts in a cactus, Derek draws the line.

''We don't need a _cactus,''_ he says, exasperated.

''But, but poppa. Flowersies are like, the home thing everyone buys? Is it not?''

''Don't look at me kid,'' Derek says with a raised eyebrow, ''I'm not the poster child of normal.''

Omar shrugs amiably. ''It's cute tho.''

Grumbling, Derek puts the yellow potted prickly thing back into their cart. ''Fine. But it goes into your room. Understood?''

Omar flashes him a grin that's so pleased Derek has to close his eyes for a second to not grab the kid into a smothering hug.

They eat the ever famous meatballs and haul back drawers and a bed for Omar that they spend rest of the day putting together. They have a few missing pieces and drive back to get them, Omar managing to persuade Derek to grab a dinner at the local diner. Obliging, Derek has the feeling that in the years to come, the kid will wrap him around his little finger and Derek will love every single minute of it.

 

 

The third day brings in the moving trucks and. . . Stiles Stilinski.

''You didn't tell anyone you were back in town.''

The teen has grown up marginally. His shoulders have broadened, though his frame is still rather lithe, belaying the muscles beneath. His face is no longer round with the last baby fat, but high cheekbones and sharp edges. The eyes are the same though, fiery and righteous, sparkling with something achingly familiar. He has firmly planted his feet on the ground, slightly apart, like he's preparing himself for battle.

To battle what, Derek has no idea.

''Sorry,'' he manages in response, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. He has no clue how to continue that sentence, so he doesn't. Silence hangs long and awkward while Stiles eyes him up and down with scrutiny.

''You didn't call. Or text. Or send emails. You couldn't even give us the courtesy of knowing you were alive, man. You've _no idea_ how many sleepless nights I scoured the internet for anything that could be of you. If you were alive or dead or -''

The human cuts his sentence short when Omar comes peeking around Derek's back. He mock whispers, ''Who's that poppa?''

Stiles' eyebrows shoot up and his eyes widen. _''Poppa?''_

''Omar,'' Derek says calmly, softly pushing the boy in front of him. ''Meet Stiles. Stiles, Omar.''

Since Stiles reeks of wolf, specifically Scott, Omar offers both his bared neck and his bare wrist as a sign of respect. Even without the scent of Scott, Stiles smells of powerful magic, and for a little beta like Omar, it must be overwhelming.

Stiles' eyes are wide and bugging out of his head, his posture going slack with surprise. Derek nods at him to take the offered wrist. Stiles glances at him, scent turning nervous but does it. He grabs the kid's wrist gently and says, ''Hey buddy. How's it going, little man?''

Omar relaxes at the acceptance and gives a little shy crooked grin. He mumbles, ''Good. We moving 'n stuff.''

Derek crouches down and looks up at the kid. ''What was that?'' Omar blushes, the color filling his dark cheeks, little black curls bopping up and down when he shyly sways back and forth on his heels. ''I said we moving 'n stuff.''

Stiles grins and mimics Derek's actions, lowering himself to his haunches. ''That's pretty cool. This your house?''

It's achingly familiar, this wicked way of Stiles prodding and fishing for information without any effort. Stiles is no saint, and will put his nose where it doesn't belong no matter how Derek may protest, so he might as well invite the man in.

Omar affirms it, taking Derek's hand when he stands up. Derek nods at the kid, and then looks at Stiles still squatting down. ''C'mon,'' he says, and starts to lead the pup in, ''I think I have something to drink in this house.'' He turns his next words to Omar. ''Did we buy any of that apple juice while we were in town?''

''Uh-huh,'' Omar confirms, and lets go of Derek's hand in favour of running to the kitchen. ''I know so, five boxes of it!''

''Five boxes, huh.'' Stiles says, and dusts his pants when he comes in. Derek just shakes his head, chest warm with affection. Omar may not be his biological pup, but he sure as hell is going to love that kid like one, until his very last breath. And then, even beyond that.

''Didn't know you had a kid,'' Stiles prods, taking his shoes off when Derek frowns at his feet.

Derek shrugs. ''I do now.''

Stiles gives a slow nod, his eyes calculating.

Things have been so tough for so long, that Omar coming into his life is like a small blessing, a little piece of mercy. The four years he's been gone, two he has barely any memory of because -

He shudders, flashes of dark cells and infinite pain forcing him to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He slams the flashbacks down, and focuses on his anchor. He can hear Omar's heartbeat from the kitchen, the sound familiar and comforting in its steadiness.

''Hey,'' Stiles says, grabbing his shoulder. He has a small worried frown creasing his forehead. ''You okay?''

''Yeah,'' he says, because he's not ready to tell anyone that he's not. ''I'm fine.'' He visibly shrugs the terror away and takes a long, deep breath. ''Let's go save my kitchen before that kid is going to destroy it.''

There's a gasp, and then Omar grumbles, offended. ''Poppa! I would _never!''_

It makes him huff and he ruffles the kid's hair when he reaches him. ''You say that now, but just yesterday you were making a sandwich and somehow managed to get butter and Nutella _in_ the toaster.''

Stiles snorts behind him and when Derek turns, he sees something foreign yet familiar twinkling in the man's eyes. Amusement maybe. Humor that's sparked between the time of his departure and arrival back. He's glad it's there. The teen, or young adult, he can't really say Stiles is a kid anymore, deserves a chance at happiness.

''I think you should smear the butter and Nutella only after you've toasted it kid,'' Stiles winks, and takes a seat on one of the chairs around the kitchen table. ''So,'' he hedges, looking back and forth between Omar and Derek. ''You've been busy, huh.''

Omar wrinkles his brow adorably in confusion, but Derek can't focus on that. Between breaking up with Braeden and taking his chances on his own, he has had the worst luck. It had been fine the first two months, road tripping alone, finding local packs and going on full moon runs with them. His phone had been destroyed even before leaving, a casualty in the aftermath of his almost death.

But then. . . Hunters had gone on his trail. And being the last Hale that the hunter community knows of, he knows his head is worth a huge price. His mother had been powerful, in both his alpha status as well as in her job, conquering case after case and earning a name for herself in law circles.

His father had been a prominent scientist, trying to get a crack at finding a cure for cancer from werewolf genetics. Both Uncle Peter and Uncle Andrew had been famous for their slick tongue and ability to charm their way to get information on anything. It wasn't known in the human world as much, but in supernatural circles it was the gossip of every other week, and every single hunter knew not to pass those two in their path.

Talia Hale had ruled her pack and her job with kindness and generosity that often went hand in hand with her power. She ruled the court and she ruled her people, and the town loved her.

Kate surely got at least half a million when the hunter community found out about her murder spree.

And now that people only knew of Derek, his death was surely worth celebrating for some. After evading his pursuers for three months, he had been captured.

He had been foolish. Knew better than to trust strangers. But he had been tired, feeling the loneliness and impeding threat, and the kind gesture of an older couple, offering him lodgings for a night, had been too hard to resist.

He should have.

The next year he spent in a hunter prison, being experimented at. He has no words for the god-awful things that went down, only flashes of memories that pop up at inopportune times, permanent aches in the scars that stayed on his skin when wolfsbane tore through his system and broke it down.

He got out, by accident, and knew nothing but fear and running and getting away. He stayed wolf for more than six months, his brain unable to cope with the amount of trauma and hurt. When he finally got himself sorted out and changed back to human, he sought refuge at a wolf pack in Oregon. They let him stay, didn't mind he was a wolf ninety percent of the time, fed him and let him sleep with them. He kept healing with every touch, every story of his mother that the alpha told him.

That's when he met Omar.

The Bracamonte pack had been doing patrol on their territory lines when the Railey pack attacked. They overpowered them easily, chasing them off their land with zero casualties. Derek hadn't participated, but guarded like a hawk from afar, and the four year-old kid that was in the middle of the bloodshed had caught his eye.

He brought the subject to the alpha, and they went to get the kid. There had been only one cub in the midst of thirty wolves, and they offered him in a silver platter to save their own necks.

Derek _despised_ them.

Omar had been terrified and weak, but between the Alpha of his new pack and Derek, they got the pup to open up.

It took a long time, but Derek was patient in a way that he hadn't had the opportunity until now, and he and Omar created a bond that could rival an alpha's and their beta's. A mother's and their child's.

And in the end, Beacon Hills called him home and he took Omar with him, with the blessing of the Bracamonte alpha.

They road tripped for three months before Derek managed to close the offer on the house.

And now, here they were.

''Yeah,'' he replies.

Stiles hums. ''He's. . How old?''

Getting the mugs down and setting them on the table, Derek says, ''Omar is five now. Met him when he was still four.''

''So not biologically - ''

Stiles stops his sentence short when Derek sends him a angry glare. ''Omar is _mine_. He will always be _my_ kid. _End_ _of story_.''

The human raises his hands in surrender. ''I didn't mean - I'm sorry. I'm being rude. Of course he's yours. I - When did you, I mean, what happened with Braeden?''

Clearly getting the hint that Omar's past was not up to discussion, at least not right away, Stiles jumps to a safer topic. Derek shrugs. He takes the offered juice when Omar brings it to him and starts pouring while his kid goes to find a chair for himself.

''I broke up with her right after I left. We didn't - It wouldn't have worked out.''

''Gotcha. So hey, since you're back in town, I gotta at least update you on the pack.''

Sparing a glance, he shakes his head a little. ''Maybe later,'' he says, taking the wooden chair Omar is dragging.

''Here poppa.''

''Thanks pup.'' Derek sits down and the kid clambers into his lap. Taking the plastic Hulk cup, he places it in front of Omar and pushes gently the other ceramic mug towards Stiles.

''What if I had wanted the Hulk one?'' Stiles asks, his eyes twinkling. Omar immediately tenses with excitement.

''You know _the Hulk?''_

Stiles leans a little closer and speaks conspiratorially. ''You bet I do, kiddo. Hulk is the man!''

Omar bops his head up and down rapidly. ''Yeah! Poppa says Deadpool is his favorite, but I don't know who that is because I'm not old enough to read those comics. But I like Hulk. He's big and green and nice!''

Chuckling, Stiles grins widely. ''I know! Hulk actually reminds me of a certain someone. . .'' The human's eyes slip to gaze into Derek's and he has to duck his head a little. He wouldn't associate himself with the Hulk. Derek wasn't kind in that way. Angry, yes. But that too was nothing but a faded past. Anger was no longer his anchor, and he was all the better for it.

''Who's that?''

''Your old man, of course.''

Omar wrinkles his brows. ''My old man? You can't own people! I don't have any old mans!'' The kid's eyes look worriedly up from Derek's lap. He brings his hand to ruffle the curls, offering a reassuring smile.

''Stiles means me, pup. He thinks I'm an old man.''

Omar chuffs. ''Well, you are old. Old as pine trees.''

Stiles chortles a small laugh. Derek rubs his face. ''Thanks, monkey. I'll remember this comment the next time you want something from the store. Maybe I'll be too old to carry your favorite snacks inside. Maybe I won't even have the strength to pick them up in the first place.''

''Noooo,'' Omar giggles, wriggling himself against Derek's thighs. He brings his tiny hands to hug Derek's chest. ''I love you no matter what, poppa, okay? Even if you are wrinkly and old. Please buy me bananas!''

While Derek calms the cub down, the pup resembling a bunny dosed with dozen energy drinks, Stiles downs his juice with a couple gulps. He sets the mug on the table and shakes his head, smiling. ''Man. That look I kind of want to always see on your face.''

Derek brings his head up to look at the man in confusion. Stiles rests his cheek on his hand and says, ''Smiling, dude. I wanna see you keep smiling. Suits you.''

Flushing, Derek breaks eye contact.

''Poppa, I gotta pee.''

Taking the escape for what it is, Derek nods and lifts the pup out of his lap. Omar takes off to the direction of the toilet, which leaves Stiles grinning happily at him. ''I gotta go,'' the man says, before Derek has the chance to follow the kid.

''But I'd like to keep in contact with you. Is that okay? And I mean, fully in contact. Not just, texts every now and then, only to come by and then see that you've left town again.''

Derek's lips immediately turn down a notch, but he nods. ''I won't. I mean, we're settling here. This, this is going to be our home for as long as we want.''

''That's good! It kind of really sucked when you left, you know. But - '' Stiles waves him off before Derek can interrupt. ''I'm glad you got out when you did. There was some serious shi - I mean poop going on here after you - Well. Let's just say we're all alive still.'' The ones that aren't are heavily implied.

''By the way, is the kid a wolf too?''

''Oh yeah,'' Derek snorts. ''Quick reflexes and ears of an elephant.''

''Poppa!'' Comes the outraged yell. ''My ears aren't big!''

''No,'' Derek says patiently, ''I just meant that your hearing is as good as an elephant's. We can read the book on that for bed time if you want.''

Omar doesn't reply but Derek hears him chanting _'yesyesyes'_ underneath his breath.

''Definitely a wolf then,'' Stiles smirks, and stands up. ''Here,'' the man says, offering his phone. ''You give me yours and I'll give you mine.''

He complies easily, knowing when he's going to lose the battle. Refusing to share his contact details would have made Stiles pester him all day and night. Since the man knows where he lives, it would have become unbearable sooner or later. The years haven't changed Stiles on that particular trait at all. Still nosy and stubborn. It's an admirable quality, as long as it's not directed at Derek. After exchanging phone numbers, Stiles goes to the hallway in search of his shoes.

''You know, if you have time at some point, we should totally talk. Get up to date with things. Get to know each other in a way that's not tarnished by v-i-o-l-e-n-c-e.''

Looking at Stiles' wiggling eyebrows, Derek can only huff in amusement. ''Sure,'' he says. ''I just need to take Omar with me. I can't leave him alone.''

''Pooppaa, come wipe mee!''

Stiles laughs brightly. ''Looks like he needs you even now. Look,'' the man continues hastily. ''Bring him by the station some day, yeah? Let my dad meet him. I bet he'd love to watch him for an hour or two when we talk. We gotta address some real issues and all of those are not exactly kid safe topics.''

Derek sighs wearily. He hadn't taken on account that coming back to Beacon Hills would mean being unsafe again. Of having to battle for his life, over and over. Shit. Maybe coming back wasn't such a good idea after all.

As if sensing his conflict, Stiles brings a gentle hand to his shoulder. ''Hey,'' he murmurs, easy smile on his face. ''The town's safe. Kid proof. No more bad stuff has happened in years. It's like, after the Nogitsune and all that prevailed, we got out. Like, _really_ out. No more bad guys, no more threats. It's as if, as if the town gave one last exhale of evil, and when the air was clear for the first time in a decade, I warded the shit out of this place.''

''Poppa!''

''I'm coming,'' Derek reassures absently, his eyes still locked with Stiles'. ''You promise?''

''By my own magic, Derek. I swear. Our discussion will be nothing bad - Well. Nothing future bad anyway.''

Conceding, Derek deflates. ''Yeah, alright. But if Omar gets uncomfortable for any reason, I reserve my right to veto our deal. We can always call each other or something.''

Stiles makes a face. ''If it comes to that, sure. But I'm sure the kid's gonna be fine with my dad. He raised me after all, and I can tell you, I was not an easy child.''

''It's not Omar's behavior I'm worried about,'' Derek says, reluctantly amused beside himself. ''It's his past that I'm worried about. He gets triggered easily and -''

''Hey whoah, okay. Calm down. It's okay. If something happens, we'll give my dad your number and he can call anytime. We can go somewhere close to talk, like a coffee shop or something.''

_''Poppa!''_

''Yes, yes, pup, I'm coming.'' He sighs and then offers Stiles a nod. ''I'll text you. When is it good time to come by the station?''

''Well, I'm on shift all weekdays this week, from seven to three thirty. Any time between is fine. And, if you come during lunch time, you'll make two Stilinskis very happy.''

They shake on that, and Stiles leaves, leaving Derek feeling slightly better at the promising future he wants to build.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!

 

Derek takes Stiles on their deal two days later. The past 48 hours he's spent on unwrapping boxes and assembling furniture, Omar trying to help in his own five-year old ways, he's desperate to get out of the house. They still need clothes for both of them, and some more linens and towels and other dozen things he's never even thought about. He's stumbling along on this home owner thing as he goes, surprised at how much stuff he needs to fill a small two-story house.

Summer is stretching right in front of them, long and endless, the heat slowly rolling in. Needing a distraction from both the sweltering weather and the boredom that comes along with almost nothing to do. Derek didn't even know they made oilcloth tablecloths until Omar had drawn on the wooden table with permanent markers. (That find was a blessing in so many ways.)

He's definitely going to have to buy a kiddie pool on the back yard. Keeping one wolf cub occupied while they sweat their frustrations away is a lot easier when there's a cool and fun place to spend time in. Maybe buy a couple soccer balls and baseball equipment. The backyard has enough space for the things, and the preserve that continues for miles and miles offers great places for tracking and instinct training. 

He thinks lacrosse could help his little pup to burn off some excess energy as well. He'd rather they play basketball, but that's a little hard to play on an uneven ground with no baskets to shoot into. Lacrosse is easier in that way, since all it involves are the crosse, a ball and couple goals. Even one goal would suffice with just the two of them.

Since Derek still doesn't own a car, an investment he's definitely going to need after Omar starts school and he starts work, they walk. It's a lovely day, the sun bright up in the sky. Both of them are ravenous, but the changing scenery keeps them from thinking about it too much. It's a forty five minute walk with a five-year old, which he spends more than half carrying the pup.

And the thing that hadn't registered until the day after the unexpected visit, was that Stiles was probably a deputy then, if he had shifts at the station. The information surprises him, since Stiles is smart enough to have had gone to almost any college he wished. He knows Stiles' IQ and his grades since he'd snooped around for a little when Stiles hadn't been home and had found his grades printed on a sheet of paper.

Stiles had had almost 4.0 GPA.

The whole journey to the police station he keeps getting curious stares from the passersby. Some of them know exactly who he is, and frown at him, confusion and wariness written all over their faces. The others, they just nod and wave. Omar who has taken his place on Derek's shoulders is glad to wave them back.

''What do you want to eat, pup?''

''Fries!''

Derek chuckles lightly. Careful not to jostle his carry, he nods towards the diner looming far ahead. ''I think that one is the closest to the station. You want to give the nice policemen some burgers and fries?''

''Yes! Fry fries!''

''Uh-huh,'' Derek agrees. ''Fry fries it is.''

They enter the station a little while later, bypassing the diner in favour of getting the two Stilinski's with them when they go order. He thinks he already knows Stiles is going to go with curly fries, since that was the number one thing the man went for when they were on one of their stakeouts.

''Well, isn't that just adorable.''

Derek turns to the voice and smirks at Stiles. The man grins widely and waves at Omar. The kid waves back, at least it feels like it, when he swings a little back and forth.

''You got the highest seat in town,  buddy. You ready to hunt some food?''

Derek sighs exasperatedly. ''How many times do I have to tell you, we don't hunt our food. We go to the grocery store when we're hungry, just like everyone else.''

''Don't even try! I know that Scott hunted down a rabbit and a squirrel during that time of the month, and if the way he dodges the question every time I try to ask, I bet you ten bucks he still sometimes does,'' Stiles laughs, ''But if I'm being honest, I feel like eating some burgers and if dad doesn't get to order one, he's going to take yours. And then you have to chase down that burglar like the predators you are.''

''Who's a burglar, hm?'' Sheriff Stilinski says from behind Stiles, making the man jump. ''Derek, good to see you. And _hello_ there. Who's this bright young fellow?''

'''M Omar,'' Omar murmurs. He's eyeing the batch and the gun a little, and when Derek sets him down, he clings to his midsection.

''Omar, meet John Stilinski. He's the sheriff of this town.''

The older Stilinski crouches down to the kid's level and offers a patient smile. ''Hi there kiddo. I'm Sheriff Stilinski, but you can call me John.'' The man extends his hand for Omar to shake but the pup hides behind Derek.

''Sorry,'' Derek says, ''He's a little shy.''

John takes his hand back and winks, says, ''No problem. I'll win him over yet. I'm not a popular kindergarten visitor for nothing.''

Stiles claps his hands. ''So. Food?''

They all agree.

  
The local diner hasn't changed at all since Derek last visited. The only thing that's different seems to be that a health inspector must have gone by, because everything smells slightly better. No more the stale smell of old fat. The black gunk that had piled up year after year on every crease and nook has been scraped clean and the cooking meat actually smells fresh rather than half rotten.

''You already know what you're going to order?'' Stiles asks. Their shoulders brush against each other, Stiles leaning into his space with no hesitation. The line in front of them is minimal, and there are menus scattered readily along the long counter.

''Fries and fried chicken for the monkey. I'll have a burger and a salad.''

Stiles immediately turns to his father. ''See! Even the wolf eats healthily and he doesn't have to worry about blocked blood vessels and cholesterol.''

''Son,'' John says with the patience of a man who has gone through this fight a gazillion times before. ''My condition is fine. My cholesterol is fine. My heart is fine. I can enjoy a burger and fries every now and then and it won't affect my overall health. So get off my fries or you'll be in desk duty for the foreseeable future.''

Huffing, Stiles harrumphs. ''Fine. But if you get heartburn later on, don't say I didn't tell you so.''

''You got it, bucko.''

Derek places a comforting hand on Omar's back and glances at Stiles with raised eyebrows. ''What are you going to get?''

''Burger and fries.''

Derek smirks. ''Pot to kettle then.''

''No, but it's not the same thing! I'm still young and fit. Dad's already got bad test results from the doctor before and - ''

 _''Stiles_. You don't have to explain yourself to me. Just order your stuff and go find a seat.''

''Fine, fine,'' Stiles grumbles, but complies. John comes after him, and when he's done ordering, he says to the cashier, ''Put those two on my check also. Omar, what do you want to eat?''

''It's alright,'' Derek says, ''You don't have to pay for our portions. I can -''

''Son, Derek. Let me pay this time. You can cover the next one if you want.''

Narrowing his eyes, Derek looks at the sheriff. The man looks at ease and relaxed, humour playing at the upturn of his mouth. The man raises his brows in challenge, and Derek sighs in defeat.

''Pup, did you want the chicken and the fries?''

''Fry fries poppa.''

''Uh-huh,'' he says and then directs his words to the woman behind the counter. ''One child's order of fried chicken and curly fries, and one order of bacon burger meal with an extra side salad.''

''Any drinks?''

''Water for me and juice for the kid.''

''We have orange, raspberry and apple.''

Omar tugs at his shirt and whispers, ''Berry, poppa. Berry.''

''We'll have the raspberry.''

The woman thanks and Derek turns to leave, gathering some utensils before he does. Stiles has found a booth near a window and Derek leads his kid over while the sheriff pays.

Omar climbs onto the sofa and Derek puts down his fork and knife, gesturing at Omar to Stiles. ''Can you look after him for two seconds? I'll go collect our drinks. Did you get any?''

''Oh, yeah, sure. Um, I'll just have water thanks.''

When he returns, John has seated himself next to his son, leaving Omar alone on the other side of the table. The kid is fiddling with his shirt, eyes downcast.

''Here,'' Derek offers the raspberry juice box. The pup takes it with a nervous smile. Derek's heart goes out to him, though he knows the Stilinski's are good people. It's just that their presence alone is rather powerful, and the way John is both intense and quiet in contrast to Stiles' chattery and breezy, makes anyone with any kind of instincts stay on their toes.

''So Derek,'' John starts, after he's seated himself. ''Tell me about yourself a little. Have you thought of any jobs since you moved back? How about Omar's school things?''

''Dad,'' Stiles hisses.

''It's okay,'' Derek reassures, and directs his words to John. ''I've got a job at the local nursery for now. A landscaping firm needed an extra pair of hands on their site and I took it. It doesn't start until August though, so we have a whole summer to reorient ourselves a little bit.''

John nods. ''That's good to hear. That means you're going to spend a lot of time outside, hm?''

''Yes, sir.''

''And what about Omar? Are you putting him in school? Is your work schedule going to adjust fine with his?''

Shrugging, Derek takes a sip of his drink. ''I don't know yet. I'm sure we'll manage though.''

''Well. If you ever need someone to pick Omar up or watch him while you do your thing, you know how to contact me. I'll make sure of that.''

Stiles blinks at his father incredulously. ''Did you just threaten and offer your help at the same time? Is that a thing that just happened?''

''Don't be silly. I wouldn't threaten Derek. He's proven himself to be a man of his words. If he says he's going to be fine, he's going to be fine. Though,'' he points a finger in Derek's direction. ''Asking for help doesn't make you weak or a bad parent. It just makes you smart.''

''Smart cookie?'' Omar pipes up. He's still clutching the unopened juice in his hands. Derek takes it from him and chuckles. ''Uh-huh. The sheriff just called poppa a smart cookie. How about that?''

He takes the straw and pops it in the box, offering back to the pup. Omar's eyes shine happily. ''Poppa is always smart.''

 Despite himself, Derek's ears turn a light shade of red. It's almost terrifying, the utmost trust Omar has for him. Derek is so afraid of fucking the kid up that sometimes the pup's innocent words of praise cut into his heart like a knife. The way the kid is over the moon to have Derek in his life as his guardian, protector and loving parent, makes him both want to make the kid proud and raise him well, while the other part screams at Derek of his past failures and how he's going to be a bad influence on the kid.

 Of course, he doesn't give any outward signs of this. Not any that could be picked up by a child, anyway. Stiles though, gives him a considering look, while the sheriff's scent goes what Derek could only describe as fond.

 ''How's the move going? Lots of stuff to unpack?''

Derek huffs. ''I never knew how much it takes to fill all that space. The loft was easier in that account because it didn't need much furnishing. Now though. . .''

''I remember,'' John smiles, crinkly-eyed. ''When we moved to that house with Claudia, it took us years to fill all that empty space. It filled quietly, and at the end of the day, most of it is things we don't even use on daily basis.''

Derek nods. The sheriff sighs a little wistfully. ''Then of course we got Stiles. Even before he was born our house suddenly filled with baby stuff. Crib, car seats, tiny bicycles that you couldn't possibly even use before you were at least a couple years old.''

''Really?'' Stiles says, and John laughs.

''Yes, really. Your uncle Ben used to spoil Claudia because she was his little sister. And everything that made Claudia happy was mostly related to you, so. We had the guest room filled with diapers the first six months. Our neighbors and the guys at the station wanted to ease the financial burden for us. It felt ridiculous back then, but we did end up using all of it. Good times.''

Stiles chews on his straw and says, ''I wonder where uncle Ben is now. Haven't heard of him since. . .''

''Since he took that trip to Thailand a couple years back. Diving, I believe he was supposed to go experimenting.''

''With that weight? If they let him actually go underwater I wonder if he - '' 

The waitress' entrance cuts the man's sentence short. ''One plate of fried chicken with curly fries?''

Derek lifts his hands to take the offered plate. ''I believe that one was for him.''

''Thank you. And double cheese burger meal?''

''That would be me. Thank you,'' The sheriff says. 

''No problem. Bacon burger meal with an extra salad?''

Stiles points to Derek and says, ''That would be for him. Whatever you've got left I'll take.''

The waitress smiles and gives both plates away. ''Enjoy your meal!''

''Thank you,'' they all chorus.

 

At the end of the lunch, Omar has warmed up considerably to the sheriff. It makes Derek both proud and sad. Partly sad because he feels like soon enough the world will be of more interest to the pup than Derek's company. Partly he's happy and proud because he can practically see Omar shedding his shy shell and blooming into the excited five year old he's supposed to be. The quiet and subdued little cub has vanished, leaving behind the exuberant child that he's supposed to be to begin with. The sun is still brightly shining down on them when they slowly stroll towards the station.

Letting Omar chat with the sheriff while John listens to him patiently, Derek turns his attention to Stiles. The young man has grown up in both height and body, as well as mentally. Of course there still are remnants of the easily distracted comic book nerd, but even that has mellowed out somehow. The constant restlessness that used to plague Stiles' whole body has calmed, the anxious smell of medicine and nervous sweat gone.

The man is looking at Omar with wide, soft eyes, ears practically perked towards the kid's ramblings. Derek nudges Stiles' arm to get his attention. The man turns his head and meets Derek's gaze.

''Hm?''

''How are things with you?''

Stiles seems to consider this for a moment, his expression sobering. The man stretches, intertwining his fingers behind his neck and lets out a whoosh of breath.

''It's kind of a long story, man. And not precisely a very happy one. But in short, the aftermath of the fox demon fucked me up, Scott went from happy little puppy to DEFCON 1 in mere weeks, and didn't trust me for the longest time. It hurt a lot, but we're brothers, so we figured things out. It may or may not have involved a tiny fist fight.''

At Derek's incredulous look, the man concedes, ''Okay, more like the champion round of WWE. But like I said. We figured things out.'' He takes another slow breath. ''Anyway, we got to graduate high school and I got into a college. . . Only to realize that I hated every single minute I was there. Hated the lectures, hated the people and despised my roommate. Turns out, once you get into the supernatural world, all that mundane shit seems really inane and stupid compared to what we went through. I lived in constant hypervigilance and college was the worst place to be. So I dropped out and dad hired me instead.''

''How long ago was that?''

''Oh, uh. I wanna say six months ago? But I dropped out of college a lot sooner. I stopped going to class and stuff. Dad actually found a really good therapist that was in  the knowledge of you-know-what and well. It helped. Being able to talk to a third party that was completely detached and a stranger to things that went down. And wasn't a fucking psycho emissary to an alpha pack, ready to use my vulnerabilities against me. When I got my head right and passed the psychological test to become a deputy, dad took me on the spot.''

''And nobody gave you a tough time for that?''

''Nah,'' Stiles grins. ''I know over half of the staff from way before. They love me.'' 

Derek smirks a little. ''I'm sure.''

''Poppa?'' A tiny hand takes Derek's and he looks down. 

''Yeah, monkey?''

''I have to pee.''

Stiles snorts unattractively and clamps Derek on the back. ''Don't worry,'' he winks at Omar. ''I'm sure poppa can help you at the station. Or you could ask the sheriff and get a luxury toilet in the back.''

''What's lu. . Lus. . Leks. . .''

''Luxury,'' Derek offers. ''That means better than normal. Something really good, something that usually means expensive.''

Omar frowns thoughtfully and then asks, ''What's exp. . Expesn. . ''

''Expensive. Well, you know how I always buy you that one lollipop that costs less than a dollar?'' Derek waits until Omar nods in understanding and then says, ''Well, expensive would be if I bought you that four dollar lollipop. That's expensive. It means something costs _more_ money than what it usually does. You get what I'm saying, monkey?''

The pup is quiet for a minute before he looks up and says, ''I can use a four dollar toilet?''

Stiles laughs, delighted, and turns to his dad with wide eyes that are sparkling with amusement. ''Hey, daddi-o. You've got a tiny visitor for your fancy private little bathroom.''

''Suits me just fine,'' John says easily. ''I can take him to the back while you continue talking.'' Omar nods in consent and grabs John's hand. Derek deems the day's social interactions a booming success.

 

Omar and John disappear to the back while Stiles and Derek find an empty conference room. Stiles flops down to one of the chairs and gestures for Derek to do the same. He does, and then Stiles pins him with a look.

''So what about you? What happened after you left?''

Derek cocks his head to make sure Omar doesn't hear, and then he sighs. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, a silence falls onto the room. Stiles seems to be in no hurry, despite the fact that he mostly likely is on the clock, as is John.

''A lot of things happened,'' he starts slowly. ''I don't - It's not something I can actually talk about much. I - '' He rubs his face in frustration.

''Look,'' he says, ''There is a lot that went down that I'm probably not even aware of. I'd rather not discuss any of it.'' He shakes his head and studies his hands.

''I've got Omar now. I, I saved him. From another pack. I adopted him in all the legal ways, signed all the paperwork and fled back here. We're a family. And what's happened to him. . . I think the two of us are a good match. We're both a little. . . Broken, in a way.''

Stiles quirks an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything. Derek continues, ''His past pack was a shithole. He's only five and gone through more trauma than I have.''

''Well, that's an impressive feat.''

Derek sighs. ''I, the past doesn't matter. I can't let it matter. For him or for me. I just have to look forward now. Dwelling in the past, it isn't. . . Healthy I guess. So just - ''

''Just don't ask until you're ready to share?'' Stiles smiles a little ruefully. ''Yeah. Okay. I respect that.'' The man chew's his lip and then leans his elbows on his knees.

''The thing is Derek, you're not an alpha. Right?''

Derek shakes his head.

''Right. And Omar isn't either. How are you two going to be alright during the full moons? What's gonna happen without an alpha to anchor you? We've both seen so many omegas to know that that shit isn't healthy. You'll go insane. Possibly feral, even.''

''That's not entirely true, you know?'' Derek muses. ''A wolf is stronger in packs. They're less volatile, less prone to violence and mood swings. That's true. An alpha's role is to care and protect. It's their most important job. A beta without an alpha feels. . . Insecure. Scared. There's no safety in being alone. But I'm not alone. And neither is Omar.'' He shrugs a little. 

''If the right alpha would come around and want us in their pack? I'd accept. Omar would probably accept. But what you've got to understand is that Omar's past alpha was a manipulative bastard. A child abuser of the third degree. So a lot of the kid's fears and wariness stems from having a bad alpha. So perhaps introducing such character into his life isn't the best thing to even do right now.''

''Okay. I guess. But if you need help, just. Don't hesitate to ask me. Or Scott. I'm sure he'd be happy to help.''

Derek thinks that, no, he'll probably never ask Scott to help him, but that's probably nothing new to Stiles. The human looks at him, and seems to come to the same conclusion. He slumps in defeat. ''So. . . You two should be alright?''

''Yeah. We'll be alright. He's got a stable anchor as do I. We're not about to go insane, Stiles. A werewolf isn't one thing or the other. It's just two set of instincts melded in one.''

Stiles frowns a little. ''But Scott - ''

''Is a turned wolf. He's got this, this _idea_ of what will happen to him during a full moon if he's not careful and in a pack. He doesn't want the wolf part. We've known that ever since he got turned. He lets himself go rampage, and that's the big difference between us. All you need is a stable and strong anchor and you'll be fine. It's got a lot more to do with magic and common sense than instincts.''

''So you're saying Scott could resist the chocolate cake if he wanted, but he just doesn't want to, and justifies his lack of control with the werewolf part. Gotcha.''

''Kind of. What someone needs to do is just sit down with him and explain these things properly.'' 

''Why won't you? Or, more to the point, why _didn't_ you?''

''Are you kidding me?'' Derek says. ''Scott hasn't listened to me ever, not since the beginning. You know what the kid said to me when I told him to stay away from the Argents because they killed my family?''

A little wary, Stiles asks why.

''That they must have had a reason to.''

''He said _what_?'' Stiles shrieks. Then he covers his mouth with his hand and lowers his voice. ''Oh my God. What a dumbass. That's like - That's like saying it was _my_ fault mom died of dementia. That's just stupid, it just, it doesn't make any sense! Scott, what the _fuck_.''

Derek shrugs. ''That was a long ago. But that just proves my point.''

''Yeah, okay. God. What a real air head. Jesus.'' The man shakes his head. ''Never mind that. I'll bash his head in another time. Back to you. So the two of you will be alright? _One hundred percent?''_

''Yes.''

Stiles smiles in relief. ''That's good to hear. I was kind of worried about that.'' Then the smile widens in a grin and he says, ''Also _poppa_? How fucking cute is that?''

Derek shrugs a little. ''He wanted to call me an alpha but I'm not one. He wasn't comfortable with calling me dad or Derek, so one night he just settled with that.''

Stiles' expression softens and he's about to say something, when Derek cocks his head. Omar and John return just then, the door creaking open. The pup comes climbing to Derek's lap and whispers loudly in his ear, ''I think our toilet is gooderer.''

''Is that so?'' He rubs his cheeks against the pup's and Omar makes a happy little sound. Stiles stands up, slapping his thighs as he does.

''Welp. I think it's time to wrap things up and for me and dad go back to work. We still up to that coffee date at some point Derek?''

Derek looks at Omar who is relaxed and content, even after being alone with Sheriff Stilinski for a better half of ten minutes. He nods. Stiles grins and gives a thumbs up.

''Great! I'll see what time both me and dad are off work and we can set up something. That alright with you, dad?''

''Am I alright with what?''

''Looking after Omar for a couple hours when me and Derek have a little chat. You know. To catch up and all that jazz.''

The sheriff shrugs. ''Sounds good to me if the little fellow is okay with it.''

''Pup?''

''Mm?''

''Do you think you'd want to play with John for a couple hours some day? So me and Stiles can talk a little?''

The kid furrows his brows. ''Grown up talk? No fry fries?''

''Uh-huh,'' Derek confirms. ''Just yucky black coffee. Not fun at all.''

''Can I bring Baloo?''

''Sure thing, monkey. I'm sure John would be glad to meet Baloo. You should definitely introduce the two of them.''

''M'kay,'' Omar agrees. It's settled then. Stiles promises to be in touch in a couple days, and John looks happy to have someone to entertain him for a little while. The older human looks a little wistful, something akin to grief flickering in his scent before it's covered with fond exasperation. He's clearly looking at Stiles, smiling as he's ruffling his hair. Derek leaves with Omar in high spirits, the sun embracing them in the warm spring day.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Thank you for your never-ending patience! ;u;
> 
> Now before you go bite Stiles' head off, remember that this fic is entirely from Derek's pov. And we all know he's pretty hasty in his conclusions, his insecurity and self loathing stemming from his past abuse, so his way of thinking and interpreting things is clouded with all of the above. 
> 
> That said, thank you for reading! At the moment I'm writing a birthday fic to a friend, so other updates might be slow since I'm notoriously slow at writing (sorry!). 
> 
> Hugs!!

 

The eleven o'clock sun pools around the kitchen, dust lines dancing along the wooden tops. Recently, more often than not, the sun has been up in the clear sky warming up the grass, nurturing the flora and fauna around. Morning dew clings as long as it can, until the rays of sunlight brush the nature into waking.

Derek glances at Omar, the kid washing his hands thoroughly at the kitchen sink. He's dragged his tiny little green stool from the bathroom so he can reach, brows furrowed in concentration. 

''Up to your wrists,'' Derek reminds the pup, and Omar nods seriously. 

''Good pup,'' he says, ruffling the kid's hair affectionately. While he leaves Omar to his own devices, he reaches for the fridge. He takes out the apples and the lemon juice he already squeezed yesterday. They're placed on top of the counter where a cutting board and a knife awaits him.

''Done!''

Derek nods and offers the kid a towel to wipe his hands into. Then he steers him to sit at the kitchen table and places a small bowl and five mandarins next to it.

''Alright. Your job is to peel these mandarins. You should peel them all so that every slice of fruit is also peeled individually, so that the skin doesn't get into the salad. If you can't do it properly, that's fine. I'll help.''

''I can do it,'' Omar says, and takes one of the fruits. He flicks one claw out and starts meticulously peeling the mandarin.

Derek leaves him to it and starts peeling the apples. His back is on the kitchen table, but he has his ears honed onto what's happening behind him.

In the living room the TV is quietly playing in the background, Derek finally having bought one a couple days ago. The morning cartoons have long since ended, and the program is showing _'Keeping up appearances'._  The sound of Hyacinth gabbling with someone is giving him nostalgic memories. All of the kids in the Hale house had learned to read subtitles with the TV show. Some of the jokes he missed as a child have him now smirking with mirth.

The two of them work quietly, with the occasional word from Omar on how he's doing. By the time the pup is done with the mandarins, Derek has already peeled and chopped the apples, a whole pineapple, and two bananas. He has mixed them with the half a cup of lemon juice and juice of a whole pineapple that he deemed a little too ripe to be in the salad, since the chunks would've been a little too soft, so he sacrificed it for the greater good.

Chunks of pineapple have disappeared into his own mouth too, and Derek reckons that some pieces of the fruits Omar is dealing with have faced a similar kind of fate. 

''Here,'' he says, bringing the bowl to the table. To his surprise, all of the fruit pieces are there and accounted for. The pup had even gone as far as to try put the peeled pieces back together to create a whole fruit. Like he's making sure to show Derek he hasn't eaten anything without permission.

And that's probably what it is. Gritting his jaw, he fights back the fury that threatens to bubble to the surface. If he hadn't heard that the Railey pack's alpha had been killed almost the instant they got Omar away from him, Derek would've charged there a long time ago to properly crush the skull of that worthless piece of shit. Make sure he _stayed_ dead.

''Good job, pup. I wouldn't have done these nearly as well as you,'' he says, and Omar's cheeks flush a little in delight. 

''I did my best,'' he mutters shyly, ducking his head, his dark curls hiding his eyes. 

''Come on,'' Derek encourages. ''You can put the pieces in this bowl one by one.''

''You peeled all else?''

''Uh-huh,'' Derek says. Omar carefully puts in the pieces, his hands sticky with the juices. Derek can see all the mess that's scattered around the table, the drops of sticky substance clearly visible in the sunlight.

After the pup's done, Derek directs him to the bathroom. 

''But I already washed!''

''Yes, and now you're going to wash again. Better go fast or there might not be anything left when you come back.''

Omar's eyes widen. ''Poppa!''

Derek grins. ''Chop chop.''

There's a four second hesitation, which Derek catches. He sobers, gently grabbing Omar's neck when he climbs down from his chair. He crouches down so he's at eye level with the kid, and starts rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

''You know I wouldn't do that. right? I won't ever leave you without food if you're not fast enough, or not good enough, or not behaved well enough. I promise you that,'' he says quietly.  ''I'm sorry I said what I said, and that I made you feel like there was a possibility that you were going to be left without. That's never going to happen. Okay?''

Relaxing, Omar nods, brushing his cheek quickly against Derek's, seeking his faux-alpha's comfort. He allows it for a few moments before he separates himself.

''Now go on. Even the neighbors can hear your stomach rumbling, and that's small compared to what my stomach has to say.'' 

The kid all but runs, barely stopping for long enough to take his plastic stool with him. Shaking his head with amusement, Derek puts the home made fruit salad into the fridge to cool. He checks the oven, and their hash of potatoes and meat have cooked nicely. The cream has melted on top of the food beautifully, and he can already feel his mouth start to salivate.

He quickly rinses the cutting board, putting it away. The wooden levels he cleans efficiently, and before Omar stumbles back into the kitchen, all the traces of mess have disappeared.

''You didn't eat all of it, right!''

''Nope. It's in the fridge so it's cool when we eat it. It's also _dessert_ , pup, and we have to eat our food first.''

The kid looks like he's going to grumble about it, but then keeps his attitude in check and sits in his place instead. Derek wants to be optimistic that one day his child can be exactly the kid he's supposed to be, with tired meltdowns and protests and tantrums, something that is part of growing up. For now, he lets the issue slide though. 

They're in the middle of eating when the front door gets a couple raps on it, the clock jostles, and then a familiar heartbeat enters the house. 

''Hello?''

Omar's head cocks, listening to the intruder. He looks puzzled for a moment before he recognizes the visitor. Mouth falling slightly open, he mumbles, ''Mister Stiles?''

Derek wipes his mouth. ''Stay here,'' he says and gets up. Stiles is in the middle of knocking the door again, half inside their hallway, when Derek enters the the narrow room. The man's eyes widen with obvious delight.

''Hey man! Sorry to burst in like this without an invitation - ''

Derek snorts. 

''But I was driving some errands for my dad and I drove past the mall near the intersection to Beacon Falls, and there I saw a sign that promoted their, uh, an event of some sort? Like, for kids, and the things said _dinosaurs_ , dude, and there was a picture of a Triceratops,  and man, I don't know about you, but I totally want to go check out some dinosaurs. And I'd hate to go alone and uh, alone as an adult.''

He levels a look at the human and hums. ''Dinosaurs, huh.''

''Yeah! They have like, a small interactive exhibition and all sorts of cool stuff. It's not only for kids, though, I mean, I think they must have something that adults can do too, like - And it's not like dinosaurs are ever dull, have you been watching National Geographic? Man, those documentaries of are so real looking and the stuff is so interesting, and since you own a TV these days - ''

Smiling softly, Derek turns to see Omar creeping up behind him. Stiles' appealing speech tampers down when he sees the pup appearing from behind Derek. ''Dinosaurs?'' The boy asks timidly.

''Yeah, buddy,'' Stiles enthuses. ''T-Rexes and Pterodactyls' and wow, you probably don't care about the scientific names. Anyway, cool green and blue dinosaurs, kid, you wanna come with Stiles to see some growling and screeching ancient animals? Also, hey, did you know there's also a ball pit? Have you ever been in one?''

Omar shakes his head, small arms clinging to Derek's midsection. Derek gently rubs the kid's back, and thinks it over. It could be good for them to get out of the house for a bit. Since they visited the sheriff's station, he hasn't been with Omar anywhere but the grocery store. His mind gets made pretty fast though, because Omar's scent is thick with excitement the more Stiles babbles enthusiastically about the exhibition, and he sighs in defeat.

''Alright. I think we could go and take a look. See what's the fuss about.''

He stifles an amused snort the way both his pup's and Stiles' head whips to stare at him in surprise. Stiles whoops, grinning from ear to ear, and even Omar ducks a shy smile against Derek's shirt.

''But we need to eat first. You want to come in for a bit?''

Stiles does want to come, and Derek makes him coffee as he watches the two of them eat. Omar eats with a lot more vigor now that Stiles is in near proxy, either because his instincts tell him to eat fast lest a stronger predator get to his food, or because he's just too eager to get to the dinosaurs. Derek just shakes his head and mourns for their dessert.

The goods will keep though. Maybe taste even better when they come back. He doesn't have to worry.

 

 

 

 

It was a lie, Derek thinks, he _does_ have to worry. Though not about the dessert. The mall is bursting with people, families having the same idea that Stiles had had. He wonders how so many people have a Wednesday off to come spend time in a mall just after twelve o'clock. Actually, he wonders how _Stiles_ got a day off in the middle of the week. If Stiles is as green as a deputy as he explained, he mostly should be doing morning shifts. Or maybe he's on graveyard duty? He has no idea how police community works, inside or outside office. 

He doesn't ask.

They have to walk through the whole length of the mall to get to the designated area for the exhibition. Since there is only one floor on the building, it's pretty large in width. Derek has fond memories of the place, though it has been renovated in the recent years, leaving only snippets of the past decal. Most of the shops he remembers are no longer there, replaced with the more modern brands. It makes him a little sad, but the change has obviously done good consumer wise, the place more filled with customers than he ever remembers it being.

Omar is a little nervous with the sea of people around him, but his hand is firmly grasped in Derek's, and that soothes the pup a little bit. Stiles, on the other hand, the social creature that he is, is having the time of his life. He's bursting with youthful exuberance that he once lacked in his teenage years, just before Derek left, and it makes something warm bloom in Derek's chest.

He likes that Stiles gets the chance to be happy. His eyes are almost sparkling with joy when they reach the exhibition area, mumbling incoherently and excitedly when he sees the huge banners around. For a moment, both of the werewolves are slightly worried for Stiles' heart. It's beating triple the amount of it's usual pace, and if Derek didn't know that Stiles was young and as healthy as they came, he'd be worried for a cardiac arrest.

''Look, Derek! Omar! _That_ ,'' Stiles emphasizes, hands splayed wide to indicate the model fossil in front of the main entrance, ''Is a motherfuu - dging Gorgosaurus!'' Stiles skids closer, almost touching the head of the dinosaur, turning around to look at Derek's and Omar's faces, and Derek barely has time to shout, _'Stiles, look out!'_ before the plastic replica of the predator moves its head, mouth opening to let out a battle cry. Stiles lets out a startled cry of his own and jerks himself forward and out of the mouth of the Gorgosaurus.

Derek hastily comes to the human, dragging bewildered Omar with him, and crouches down to where Stiles had fallen on his ass.

''You okay?''

Stiles stares at him, mouth ajar, eyes slightly unseeing, before he snaps out of his shock and starts laughing. ''Oh my God,'' he wheezes, ''It actually _moved_. It's a moving Gorgosaurus. My life has never been more complete.''

Omar lets go of Derek's hand and comes to pat Stiles' cheek. ''It woulda eated you, but poppa saved you. I thinks it's good if you hold poppa's hand too. He'll protect you.''

At Stiles' flustered face, Derek grins with a little bit too sharp teeth. 

 

Ten minutes later finds Derek walking down the slightly darkened hallways of the exhibition. Both of his hands are occupied, the other holding Omar's, and the other grasping firmly Stiles'. Both Stiles and Omar are wearing a sticker over their chest. They're similar, both green with a roaring T-Rex on the corner, though Stiles' sticker says, 'Hello, my name is _Stiles_. I'm with _Derek Hale,_ ' as Omar has his own name written in. The employee had grinned at them when Derek requested two 'Find My Kid' stickers, and stifled a laughter when Derek had pinned the other onto Stiles' form hugging long sleeved _Deadpool_ shirt. 

Stiles' cheeks are ruddy, his hand clammy with sweat where it's holding onto Derek's, his scent embarrassed. He's grumbling under his breath about dying of mortification if he comes across anyone he knows. His heart is skipping in odd intervals, something foreign twisting in his scent whenever he bumps into Derek. Since no emotion and scent is set on stone, Derek can't quite get a read on on the odd smell. It's not negative though, so he doesn't let Stiles' hand go, even when he shakes it vigorously, trying to make Derek release his grip. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, he deflates, and gives up.

It also makes it easier for Derek to drag Stiles away whenever he's about to collide with something in front of him that he doesn't pay any attention to. Even Omar is more aware of his surroundings.

The exhibition itself is, frankly, quite magical. There are real skeletons displayed over the course of the show, and with the additional written information, there are also always speaker boxes that explain the display if someone pushes its button. Omar is excited about it, but Derek thinks it's more that he gets to push the big red buttons rather than the information that spills out when he does so. The language is rather on the scientific side, which is slightly disappointing, because for a five year old, that's quite a feat to understand.

Stiles, bless him, uses his passion for words and mostly manages to find alternative ways to explain the things, using roundabout words that even Omar can grasp. It makes both of them radiate with happiness. 

There are no other moving displays, but that doesn't deter the two at all. The more time passes, the more Omar loses his inhibitions, and the more he starts going along with everything Stiles does. Derek ends up being half dragged by them to move faster, because he still hasn't let either of their hands go, and he prefers a lot more glacial pace to quietly observe the show. 

Omar and Stiles clearly don't share his habit of studying the pieces with thought, and start getting impatient whenever Derek lingers too long. This amuses him to no end, and he starts doing it a little on purpose, just to see the put upon faces the two of them make with each other when they think Derek doesn't see.

Omar even starts babbling with barely time to get air into his lungs. Stiles encourages the talking, and Derek makes a mental note to pull the man aside and thank him later on.

The displays have mostly replicas on, the smell of plastic permeating the air with other smells, like sweat and frustration and general stuffiness of non-circulating air. What surprises him the most are the actual fossils, the real deals. There's an area where there are skeletons displayed side-by-side, arranged for the observer to see what could've been the evolution of dinosaurs and other mammals from their time to present. Of course, all gators are believed to have inhabiting the earth with dinosaurs, having somehow survived the mass destruction of the ancient animals. There are crocodile skeletons spread to explain how the reptiles have adapted millions of years on this earth to their surroundings.

All of it is very fascinating, and Derek has a small flashback to his elementary school obsession of all things dinosaur. His room was filled with all sorts of reptiles, from Ornithopods to his very own Tyrannosaurus Rex that was the size of their dog, Alaskan Malamute Baloo. Baloo hated the damn thing, and Derek's pretty sure that the dog was responsible for the disappearance of his favourite toy. 

Or maybe Laura. She hated it with almost the same vigor that Baloo did, the stuffed toy layered with Derek's scent. Whenever Laura was mad, she used to punch the T-Rex toy rather than Derek, lest their mother find out. 

Time passes quickly, and Derek can see Omar start lagging, their nap of the day missed since they skipped it in favor of the exhibition. Derek thinks they're about halfway maybe, so if his kid starts getting tired, Derek can always carry him. No problem.

There's a spot where kids can go and play archaeologist, dusting away sand to reveal bones from underneath. The sign says for ten and younger, but the employee keeping it doesn't say anything when Stiles sneaks in with Omar. Derek lets them go, standing outside the lined area, his ears honed on the two but his gaze reading through the pamphlet.

As he predicted, they're now somewhere in the middle. After this, there will come a little bit more of the fossils and replicas, which then tamper down in favour of having more hands-on activity. There are areas where kids can draw their own preferred dinosaur, and then see it being created by the computer into 3D. Derek thinks both Stiles and his pup would like that. A little past that there is a movie room, showing kid-friendly documentaries of dinosaurs and, apparently, they are showing 'The Land Before Time' cartoon movie as well. He doesn't remember much of it, but he knows he's seen the movie when he was a kid. He thinks there might've been a series, that the cartoon continued for another five or so films more, but he'd have to check to be sure. Omar would probably like them.

Then there's the ball pit Stiles had already marketed, and then there are fenced play areas with still statues of different omnivores, the pamphlet saying that the plastic replicas were sturdy and safe for even an adult to sit on, so it's recommended to take pictures there.

A little further from that he can see that there is a food court, the long exhibition coming a full circle, and a small tinker shop to buy their products from.

''Poppa!''

Derek turns just in time to catch his pup into his arms, lifting him up so he can cradle the kid against his chest. Omar's hands are brown with dirt, he notices, Derek's light gray henley getting a new decoration of tiny fingerprints.

''Having a good time?'' he asks, as Stiles comes behind the pup, grinning widely. There's a smudge of dirt on Stiles' cheek, making Derek huff a little.

''Yeah!'' Omar says, and Derek can tell how happy he is by just how much vigorous head bopping the kid adds to the word. 

''Good,'' Derek says. When Stiles comes closer, Derek licks his thumb to wet it and reaches to wipe the brown line off of the man's skin. Omar snuggles onto Derek's neck, distracting him slightly, so he doesn't immediately realize that Stiles has frozen on the spot. A couple bystanders _aww_ at them, and Stiles ducks his head, making Derek's hand fall, rubbing at his cheek.

''Thanks,'' the man mumbles. 

''Poppa, m hungry.''

Both adults snort, and Derek puts Omar back down. ''There's a food court coming up ahead. You think you can wait, pup?''

Omar looks down at his belly, patting it, and nods. ''I can wait.''

Derek takes his hand again, which the kid grabs gratefully, and then extends his hand to Stiles. The man looks at him, cheeks still a little red, and groans. 

''Really?''

Derek raises his brows. Looks at his hand. Then back to Stiles.

''Fine,'' Stiles huffs, taking it petulantly. ''But this means you have to buy me food. I have _earned_ it, Derek. _Earned_ it.''

Satisfied, Derek just shakes his head and heads towards the end of the exhibition. ''I think I can handle that.''

 

 

The food court is packed. It annoys Derek on general principal, since the noise level volumes up the more people there are. He can see that it bothers Omar, and sends a silent thank you for his mother for teaching him to always carry a pair of earplugs with him. He lets go of Stiles hand, oddly missing the warmth of it, before digging into Omar's little backpack. He fishes out the blue pair and hands them over.

''Here. Put these in your ear.''

His pup takes them, stuffing them into his sensitive ears. When they're in place, he sighs a deep breath, the tiny frame sagging in relief. The kid dives in for a hug, drawing comfort from Derek's reassuring bulk. Derek responds in kind, soothing Omar with steady strokes on his back, pressing a kiss to the top of his curly hair.

 ''Come on,'' he says, ''I've promised to feed a couple hooligans and I intend to do that.''

''Hey,'' Stiles says, ''I resent that. I'm not a hooligan. If I'm something, I'm a _hoodlum_.''

''Why can't both be true?''

''Eh,'' Stiles shrugs amiably, ''Why not.''

Since both Derek and Omar had eaten less than two hours prior, they leave Stiles to line up for a pizza and hit the cafeteria just a little ways away. They meet in the middle of the food court, in a comfortably shielded nook with plush sofas and a couple potted trees to dampen the echo of the buzz of people.

They talk about nonessential things, light topics. Derek catches Stiles looking at him oddly a couple times, like he's about to tell him something but doesn't quite have either the words or courage to do it. He has no idea what Stiles is thinking half of the time, so he gets a little wary the more the man does it.

Omar finishes a blueberry pie slice all on his own, and chugs it down with a glass of milk. For some reason, the little pup doesn't like fizzy drinks, and Derek is a little glad for it. Werewolves may heal fast, but dental care is important to even them. At some point in a werewolf's growth, their healing slows down for nonlethal things like caries to attack their system.

Though that happens mostly after the shifter hits a solid eighty. His grandmother would've still been a fully capable and powerful as their pack's Alpha at the time of their power transfer (she was only 65, an iron ruler and a doting grandmother in one), but she wanted Talia to have that position, to learn what it was like to be a proper leader. His grandmother was still an integral part of Talia's every day decisions regarding the pack, supporting her daughter the best she could.

It's what Laura would have had in the future, had any of them made it that far.

He feels a tug of his shirt and looks down to see Omar holding his empty paper cup. He raises an eyebrow and says, ''More milk?''

The kid nods.

''Alright. You want to come with to get more?''

Another nod.

''I'll guard our stuff,'' Stiles promises, and Derek shoots him a grateful glance.

''We won't take long.''

Stiles waves his hand. ''No need to rush. Even if I did try to steal your things, you know where I live and you'd catch with me anyway so. I will not waste that energy my pizza concluded me with on an effortless robbery.'' 

 It takes a little while to get the drink, the line having grown since they'd ordered, and when they do get it, Omar is already in a hurry to return. The floors aren't all that slippery, but with the pup's new shiny sneakers, the rubber holds a lot less resistance than a more used ones would. So with the kid concentrating his entire focus on not spilling the milk over the rim, he becomes a lot less graceful with his tiny feet than usual.

Derek has a half a second to dodge the inevitable chaos before it happens. He sits down on the couch, scooting to give Omar more room to climb next to him, just about to reach down to hold the full cup from Omar's hands before the kid stumbles, on his shoelaces most probably, and his hands instinctively grab hard the thing that's nearest to him.  

 Too bad it's his paper cup.

Omar crushes the cup, nosediving into the cushions, the cold drink flying on Derek's front and lap. He pays to it little mind though, his arms coming to immediately brace Omar's fall. He lifts the pup up, saving him from barely hitting his face on the (admittedly soft) seat.

''Whoah!'' Stiles says, inching away from the spill surrounding the fall. Somehow the milk has sprinkled all over the table too, some of Stiles' unfinished pizza now soaked.

''You okay?'' Derek asks, encouraging Omar to put his feet under himself as he hangs from his armpits. 

''M sorry!'' Omar whispers anxiously, eyes welling with tears. ''I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't - ''

''Hey, hey.'' Derek cradles the pup as close as he can get him without getting Omar wet too. It takes a little maneuvering, but he situates the kid on the dry side of the sofa, careful not the bang the kid against the table and presses Omar against his side, keeping the kid under his arm. He remembers from his childhood how the act made him feels safe and protected when he was upset, and he hopes it helps Omar too. ''It's okay. You're okay. It's just a drink. I'm not mad.''

Omar whimpers, still clutching the mug. Derek sighs, though it's full of empathy. ''Pup.'' Omar lifts his head to look at him with tear stained face. ''Do I smell angry?''

The kid shakes his head. He ducks it again, lip wobbling.

''Right. That's because I'm not angry. Hey, look at me.'' Omar lifts his face again, though won't meet Derek's eyes. ''What do you smell? Right now, what do I smell like?''

Hesitantly, Omar presses his nose against the side of Derek's chest. He sniffles, wiping a blob of snot away to his sleeve before he sniffs. Derek already knows what Omar will smell. In their time together, they've come to learn each other's scents, to know when a sad smell is real sadness or just general moodiness. Or what causes a happy scent and where it comes from.

Right now, Derek knows he smells of nothing but affection, patience, and other things he can associate with love. Because that's generally what he feels whenever he's around Omar. The tiny pup is his world, his anchor, the only thing that keeps him grounded and filled with passion to live. His mother used to say that nothing can ever compared to the fierce love a parent has for their child, that sometimes a person's love with one's partner may come to an end, but the bond one has with their children will never break. (As he's grown, he knows that not all families are like his, not all mommies and daddies love their children or even want them.) And now he knows that that feeling is true. There is _nothing_ he wouldn't do for the sake of this child. _Nothing_. 

And that's certainly something that transmits to his own scent, that fierce protectiveness and affection soaring in his scent.

The small side fact that he probably also smells a lot like he just took a swim in a pool of milk is irrelevant.

He prompts again, tucking the kid tighter against his side. ''What do I smell like?''

The response is quiet, a barely audible whisper, but Derek hears it loud and clear. ''Happy.''

 ''Mm-hm. And why do I smell happy?''

This part is tricky. He always tries to let the kid know he loves him, adores him. Wants him to take Derek's love as a fact, as something that just is, unconditional. And so far he thinks he has succeeded, but to make the kid confirm it out loud is sometimes hard. Unless is involves nightmares or panic attacks. Then Omar chants the words like a prayer, like the more he says it, the more true it becomes.

''Be- Because. . .Because poppa -''

When Omar scrunches his eyes shut, tears welling again in his eyes, Derek helps him, whispering, ''Because I love you very much. Because accidents happen and things get messy, but I will always, always love you Omar, no matter what.''

Omar swallows. ''Poppa loves me. A lot.''

''Mm. More than anything in the world.''

 Omar tucks his hand around Derek, only to make a face when his arm touches Derek's wet shirt. It makes Derek smile a little, and he extracts himself from the pup. ''You want to go get a new drink or do you want the rest of my glass of water?''

Brows furrowed, he puts the squished paper cup onto the table and reaches for the glass with water. Nodding, Derek makes sure the kid has it properly handled, before his gaze lands on Stiles. He's been suspiciously silent through the debacle, and when he sees Derek looking at him, he hastily wipes his eyes and grins a wobbly little smile.

''You ready to head out then?''

''I think so. We didn't get any souvenirs though.''

Stiles waves this away. ''This thing'll be here for another week. You'll have time.''

They both look at Omar who clinks the glass onto the table. ''Mister Stiles not hungry?'' The kid is eyeing the slightly soggy pizza. Stiles grins a little more widely, and shakes his head. ''Nah. I'm good. I should probably already head back to dad's anyway. He's got food if I get peckish later on.''

They clean up, taking the trash to the bins and then head out, Derek stopping for a few moments to get the Brontosaurus stuffed toy Omar had been looking at earlier with longing.

 The parking lot is a lot more crowded than when they had arrived, and it takes a moment to locate their cars. Stiles helps the pup dump their things into the bag that's always on the floor behind the driver's seat. Omar has his own booster seat behind the shotgun seat. It's so Derek can easily reach him when he's driving if he needs to, and he can monitor the pup better from that side.

He pops out the trunk of his car in an attempt to search for a clean and less wet shirt. There are always a couple extras if he needs them, and now that he has Omar, he's stuffed the trunk with his clean clothes as well. For emergencies, whatever it entitles. Hasty getaway? Blood? Puke? Urine? He's got it all covered.

If he'd been thinking more clearly, he muses later on, he wouldn't have had changed his shirt so brazenly at the filled lot. As it is, the soggy henley is starting to bother him, the smell of milk making him wrinkle his nose, and he doesn't really think about it.

He grabs the clean button up, and strips the soaked shirt, tossing it into the trunk. He's got nothing underneath but skin, a fact which he becomes very aware when he hears Stiles take a hitching breath. He turns around, already popping the buttons open on his dry shirt, ready to put it on, when his bare arm makes contact with Stiles' hand.

He has two seconds to frown at Stiles' expression, the blank stare he gives to Derek's back where he's obviously gazing. Then he abruptly realizes just what Stiles is trying to see.

His scars.

His skin is practically painted with the violence of his past, the cruelty of which he'd endured and survived. The abuse in the hands of hunters who loved nothing more than to make him scream and yell and beg and piss himself. He flinches, taking two steps back and covering the little he can, hiding his back. Not that it exactly helps because his front and arms are full of the same disfigurements, but the act of covering up helps him damp down the panic and anxiety.

''What the fuck,'' Stiles breathes, following Derek's motion and taking two steps to Derek's retreated ones. It's almost like the man has frozen in that blank awe, unable to tear his eyes away. He reaches again, but this time Derek growls a warning. 

Stiles' eyes snap up to his, the earlier softness, the playful childishness that he displayed when he walked down the exhibition with Omar completely gone. Replaced with with something furious. Anger maybe. He hasn't really caught up with Stiles' quirky all-time changing scents, so he can't exactly identify what the man is feeling.

But what Derek _can_ feel, is the power. It builds up, the air around them becoming thick, almost suffocating. Static, like a thunder ready to roar.

''Derek,'' Stiles says, low and dangerous, ''What the _fuck_?''

Derek clenches his fists, barely suppressing to bare his fangs, and he hastily pulls the shirt on, hiding his blemished skin. Stiles makes an aborted movement, like he almost stops Derek from dressing up, but restrains.

'' _Derek_.'' 

Derek shakes his head. ''Not here,'' he hisses. Stiles' lip pulls back in an angry snarl, and he opens his mouth to demand that, yes, yes here, and yes right now, but Derek flashes his eyes and nods towards the door of the back seat of his car where Omar is anxiously looking at them.

''Not. _Here_.'' He stresses, and Stiles' gaze slowly goes to the pup and back to Derek. Or more precisely, Derek's hidden torso. The man takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he grits his teeth together and then releases the air. The thick, almost fog-like feeling that was in the air dissipates with every calm breath Stiles takes, and it makes Derek slightly terrified.

Because Stiles has become _strong_. Powerful beyond his understanding.  And if there's something Derek has always been afraid of, it's the unknown. The highly powerful and capable unknown. 

''Fine,'' the man says, ''But we _are_ going to talk about this. _Soon_.'' 

 ''Fine,'' Derek grits, and angrily slams the trunk closed. ''Though I have no idea why it's any of your business.'' 

He's not sure he means the words, and when they're out in the open, he regrets them immediately. The tentative thing they've had so far isn't biting and resentful. It's friendly and open, not at all hostile. Stiles made him _smile_ for God's sake. He shouldn't open his mouth when he's cornered. He knows he always says the wrong things then, gets labeled as a murderer, a thug, a killer. All of which he's _not_. But he's been doing so _good._ Trust him to mess everything up just as he's finding his rhythm.

But Stiles doesn't take the heated words to heart, doesn't get upset, _can't_ get more upset, fury lining in every movement of his body. 

''It sure as fuck is my business when it concerns people I care about. _Especially_ if that something you're hiding is going to come back right on your heels to terrorize everyone. For fucks' sake.''

Ah. So Stiles is afraid Derek's past will come haunt Beacon Hills, bringing back danger to Scott and his pack, to the sheriff and the others. He has to look away at that, at that knowledge that Stiles wouldn't hesitate for one second to drive him out of the town should the hunters come looking for him. His chest fills with ice, the pit of his stomach heavy like lead. He crosses his arms over his chest in a weak attempt to protect himself from the emotions.

''Fine,'' he says, though it's a lot less biting than the first. It's an old wound filled with grief opening again, his shoulders slumping, knowing that even now that he's back in this godforsaken town, he's still got no support system. Nobody to go for help. He had thought that Stiles - He didn't know what he had thought.

''Good,'' Stiles says, unclenching his own fists. ''And I mean it, Derek. Sooner rather than later. We can talk about this the two of us, or I can bring the pack. But I swear to God Derek, if you're hiding from an enemy, say it to my face right now so we know if we need to ram up the protection wards.''

''I don't- No, I don't think anyone is following me and Omar. There's no danger,'' he says quietly. He's looking at Omar as he says it, seeing the fear in the kid's eyes.

Stiles lets out a harsh breath. ''Jesus, thank fuck. Alright.'' The man straightens, combing his fingers through is hair. It takes a couple moments for him to calm down. His expression softens a little, and he darts a glance towards the kid hanging tightly onto the car door. ''Sorry,'' he apologizes, looking back at Derek. ''I realize I may have sort of, maybe, bitten your head off. I didn't mean to make you feel, uh, bad. About your - '' He flails his arms towards Derek in general. ''Thing. Past. Stuff. But I know I did and I'm sorry. I reacted - Badly. Super, super badly, uh.''

 ''It's okay. You need to protect your pack. I get that.''

''Right,'' Stiles nods. He looks a little awkward. The anger is still there, simmering just underneath the man's skin, but his curbing his magic back in. Scratching his head, he says, ''Well. I should probably get going. Are you, uh, are you two going to be alright?''

Nodding, Derek strides past the man, carefully not touching him at all and scoops the pup up to his arms. ''We'll be fine. Go home, Stiles.''

''Okay. Um. Sorry again.'' Stiles hides his hands in his pockets. ''See you later both later?''

Omar barely acknowledges the man and just stares at Derek in concern. ''Poppa sa -''

''Shh. It's okay kid. It's okay. We'll go home and we'll be okay. Say bye to Stiles.''

Omar gives a tiny wave and then hugs Derek's throat. 

Stiles gives a hesitant smile, the expression slightly off since he's wound tight with the bubbling anger, but he's not openly hostile. The man takes his cues and gets to his jeep. He's about to hop in when he says, ''Text me Derek. Time and place and we'll meet up. I'll make sure Dad can take Omar so. . .''

Derek nods, not looking at the man at all. He focuses on putting Omar into his booster and strapping him in. He doesn't realize he's shaking before the kid catches his hand in his tiny one, offering comfort.

''I'm okay,'' he says quietly. He gives a small kiss on top of Omar's head, and then lets the kid's hand go. He gives him an reassuring smile. ''We'll be fine kid. You'll see.''

He closes the door carefully, and slowly rounds the car. He gives himself a moment to feel his heartbreak, to let his chest cave in from the grief and fear. For so long he had hoped that he'd be safe in Beacon Hills. It shouldn't be such a punch to the gut to know that the pack would sacrifice him in order to strive themselves should the enemy come into town.

But after all the time of saving each other's lives, battling the danger, he'd thought. . . He'd thought he'd be welcomed back. That he had formed at least some sort of bond with these people that they wouldn't offer him on a silver platter should the occasion rise. Stiles protects the people he cares, and Derek is not one of those people.

He should do well to remember that.

 

 

 

 


End file.
